Visitation rights
by Chinese Bakery
Summary: They were trying to start over, while she was just watching her life fall apart in an agonizing, neverending process. Post S2.
1. Chapter 1

**Visitation rights **

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Spoilers : General season 2  
Rating : R  
Characters : Sara, Michael, Lincoln, implied Michael/Sara  
Disclaimer : Just so we're clear, I don't own a thing.  
Summary : They were trying to start over, while she was just watching her life falling apart in an agonizing, never-ending process. Post S2.  
A/N : Thanks to Sarah for beta-reading.

* * *

Her heart was beating so fast she thought he would be able to hear it as soon as he walked into the room, despite the fact that a thick wall of glass stood defiantly before her. It was her first visit since the trial, and she was appalled by the idea of talking to him through a phone, unable to touch him. But it was all she had and it would have to do. 

He looked as good as ever. She had been worried the Cos would give him a hard time, but she couldn't see any hint of bruising. He didn't smile as he sat down opposite her. He didn't give anything away. She caught a glimpse of his tattoos when he held his hand to the phone.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. He sounded tired, exhausted even.

"Seems fairly obvious," was all she could reply, fighting to keep her voice and expression neutral.

There was not a hint of affection in his eyes. He looked completely closed, guarded, determined not to give her anything, anything to hope for, anything to come back to. She knew Michael Scofield: she wasn't the least bit surprised by his attitude, but she hadn't anticipated the force of his rejection.

Things escalated quickly, and in just a few minutes he was yelling at her not to come back, violently hanging up the phone and turning his back to her.

"I'll see you next week," she said to herself, watching him as he was escorted from the visitation area.

That day, Sara managed to make it through the security checks and to the parking lot before she collapsed in sobs.

--------------------------------

Her second visit was worse. As soon as Michael saw her sitting in the visitor's chair, he turned his back to her. Her instant panic and distress was so obvious the CO took pity and practically forced him to sit in front of her. He grabbed the phone and put it to his ear, but he refused to look at her.

"I can't do this. If I want to survive in this place, I need to focus on getting through each day and nothing else. I can't be worrying about you, and I can't have you worrying about me. You can forget me, pretend I'm dead, whatever you like, but please don't come back."

"I know what you're doing, Michael, and I know why you're doing it, but it's not going to work…" He hung up the phone forcefully and got up before she could finish.

--------------------------------

The next few visits went exactly the same way. He wouldn't look at her. He silently listened to her rushed supplication, then asked her not to come back. He never told her anything else. He never even spoke her name.

She had cried. She had hit the glass with her small hand and yelled into the phone as loud as she could. Nothing made him react.

After a couple of months, she had reached her breaking point.

"Are you sure about that, Michael," she asked him between sobs, "because this is it, this is the last time. I can't take this any more."

"Good," was his only reply, before he motioned for the CO to take him back to his cell.

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She wasn't sure what made her come to him that night, of all nights. She stood on his doorstep for a good ten minutes before she could gather the strength to ring the bell. The second she did, she considered sprinting back to the stairs, but he opened the door before she could make her move.

He looked different, beefier, his hair, longer. He seemed more relaxed and serene than she had ever seen him. Somehow, domestic and laid back was a look she had never expected to see on Lincoln Burrows.

She hadn't seen much of him since he had been exonerated. The two of them, along with LJ, had stood together through Michael's trial, but Sara had distanced herself from the family after the sentencing. They were trying to start over, while she was just watching her life falling apart in an agonizing, never-ending process.

"Hey, Doc. Took you long enough. I was wondering when you'd snap out of it and knock." She met his eyes and Lincoln's expression softened. He didn't need to ask her what she was doing there, it was pretty obvious.

She looked devastated, defeated. Her eyes were red and puffy. She just stood there, tentatively looking up at him while nervously twisting her shaky fingers. Back in Fox River, she has seemed so put together, surprisingly confident for a young, attractive woman in such a place. On several occasions, he had seen her deal with aggressive inmates, watched her shrug off crude comments. Every time, she stood tall, unaffected. That evening, on his doorstep, she looked so small and frail. He wanted to put his arms around her, to find some way to console her, the way he did LJ when he woke up screaming or came home from school covered with bruises. But he couldn't. Somehow, even after all they had been through together, he didn't feel allowed to touch her. He wasn't supposed to be the one to console her.

"So, you coming in or what?"

She walked past him and into the apartment. She was surprised by how tidy it was, unlike her own place. Planting herself in the middle of living room, she faced away from him, feeling increasingly awkward, silently debating about what to say to this man she barely knew. He waited patiently, watching her struggle for words.

"He doesn't want me to visit him," she said finally. Lincoln nodded, his gaze suddenly dropping to his shoes. He was well aware of that. "I keep trying but it's more painful every time. He won't even look at me." She felt her eyes filling up with tears and tried to blink them back. "He wants me to pretend he's dead. How fucked up is that?"

Linc put a comforting hand on her arm. He had no idea what to say to her.

"This last time, I told him I wasn't going back. I didn't mean it, I just…I just wanted him to react, to say something, _anything_."

She couldn't keep it in a second longer. Lincoln enveloped her with his arms and kept her to his chest as she clung to him with all her strength and she sobbed and wailed, unable to hold back.

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A gentle knock on the door woke her with a start. It took her a minute to remember where she was and how she got there. A wave of embarrassment washed over her as she recalled last night's little display. She was suddenly very aware of her swollen eyes and severely wrinkled clothes from the day before. She ran her fingers through her hair, a futile attempt to look at least slightly put together. Another knock.

Sara felt nowhere near ready to face the man who held her tightly as she cried herself out. She had been surprised by Lincoln's gentleness. Watching him during those crazy weeks they had spent on the run, all bravado and testosterone, it was easy to dissociate him from his other life. She was only vaguely aware that this man was also someone's father. It had been immensely comforting to sob in her arms, but that moment was gone and she wasn't sure she could meet his eyes. Then again, she couldn't hide in his room forever either. A loud sigh escaped her lips.

"Come in," she called.

LJ's ruffled hair and slim figure appeared through the door.

"Hi. Dad had to go to work. Figured you might want some coffee." He stepped into the room carrying a large cup of coffee on a tray, along with some toast. She tried to conjure up a warm smile. It felt to her like a forced grimace.

"Thanks."

He carefully set the tray down next to her on the bed and stood awkwardly, his eyes avoiding hers.

"So, uh, do you need anything? Dad said you weren't feeling well."

He turned slightly in her direction and she noticed a fading bruise staining his cheekbone. She frowned.

"I'm good, for now." She paused, bringing the cup to her lips. "LJ, how are _you_ doing?"

"Fine, fine." He pointed to his face. "Just some jackass at school giving me a hard time."

Sara nodded. Readjusting to normal life had been impossibly difficult for her. She couldn't imagine what it was like for LJ.

"How hard?"

"It's not too bad. High school sucks, but it sucked before, too. After last year, everything feels quite tame." Sara tried to smile but couldn't. A heavy and uncomfortable silence followed his words.

"I'll bet," she finally said, a moment too late.

"You know, he doesn't let me visit him anymore either," he murmured.

Sara felt her anger rise up full force. Who did he think he was, deciding what was best for everyone? But it wasn't a conversation she was willing to have with the young man. She needed to get out of there. "What time is it?"

"1 p.m. You slept for ages." Sara's eyes widened. She hadn't slept for more than a couple hours at a time for weeks.

"Damn!" I really should go, LJ, I was supposed to be at work at noon. Thank you for the coffee."

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She meant to drive to work but ended up at her own doorstep without even thinking about it. She didn't bother to show up at the clinic that day, or the next day. On the third day, she called to say she had a family issue to address and needed to take the week off. It was a lame excuse, especially since she didn't have any family left.

She spent those days in bed, staring at the ceiling, noticing every crack in the aging white paint, a spider web in the corner, a water stain from the time her roof leaked. Her body seemed so heavy; she couldn't find the strength to get up. She felt empty. She couldn't think of a thing to do beside lie there waiting for things to fix themselves.

Sara vaguely remembered the last time she had felt that way. She had ended up in the ER, livid and barely breathing, possible DOA. After Michael was sent back to jail again, Lincoln had made sure she didn't keep any morphine around her house anymore.

The phone rung several times a day. She carefully ignored it, as well as the doorbell. Lincoln's voice bellowing her name was slightly more difficult to repress, but she did anyway.

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The ice-cold water was burning her face, biting her skin and filling every pore. She felt it rushing into her nose and mouth, threatening to fill her lungs, suffocating her slowly, painfully. His grip on her hair was too strong; she couldn't push her head out of the bathtub, no matter how hard she tried. She knew she wouldn't be able to breathe until he decided she should. Suddenly, he pulled on her hair and let her out. She gasped frantically, trying to fill her lungs with as much air as they would hold before he pushed her back in. "It's for the best, Sara," Michael's low voice whispered in her ear. His hand caressed her cheek tenderly. "I told you I had nothing to offer you." With a splash, she was forced back into the freezing water.

She woke up with a gasp, her whole body trembling, very real tears wetting her cheeks. She sat up straight and stayed still, feeling her heart slow down, the panic dissipate.

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For the first time in ages, she felt fantastic. Euphoric, light, confident. She wasn't aching, she wasn't on the verge of tears. She felt the familiar heat of alcohol running through her veins, relaxing her whole body. Her vision was slightly blurred. The street light looked just a little too bright and fuzzy. But she felt good, mostly, and she felt like sharing.

The initial plan was to walk until the panic from the dream had disappeared completely, but she amended it when she crossed a friendly-looking bar. Just one drink, she had decided. Two, tops. Of course, she knew she wouldn't be able to respect those limits. She never had.

She caught sight of herself in the elevator mirror. She didn't look nearly as good as she felt. Her eyes were red and her hair was a mess. Her whiskey-induced confidence flickered for a second. She stumbled out of the elevator and pressed the buzzer a moment too long. She was struggling to look composed, and she was aware that she was doing a very poor job at it.

Linc was already frowning as he opened the door. His expression hardened as he took her in. She looked disheveled, unsteady, her eyes a bit too bright. He recognized the vaguely familiar scent of alcohol and cold tobacco.

"You're wasted."

"Nah, just had a couple drinks." Even to her own ears, she sounded a bit sloppy.

"Right. How stupid do you think I am?" He pulled her inside the apartment and studied her closely.

"I dunno, Linc, you _did_ end up…"

"Cut it out," he said sharply. "What do you think you're doing, wandering the streets in the middle of the night in that state? Trying to punish him? Well, I've got news for you, Doc, he's not here to see you like this. It's only yourself you're fucking up."

"What are you, my sponsor?" she huffed indignantly. This conversation wasn't going the way she hoped it would. "I don't know what else to do, alright? I don't know what to do. Nothing's _right_, and I don't know how to make things right. Or even bearable. Yes, I had a few drinks. So what? I feel better, and I'm not that drunk."

"Uh huh. You sure aren't going to feel right in the morning."

She looked at him strangely. "I'm gonna make some coffee."

"No, wait." Sara threw her arms to his shoulders and embraced him clumsily. He froze. Satisfied he didn't push her away, she tightened her tentative grip and stepped closer into him. His body felt good against hers. Right now, any body, any human contact would feel nice enough. She couldn't remember ever feeling that lonely. She was craving to touch and to be touched by someone. Her intoxicated state gave her a boldness she didn't possess. She tried to conjure a seductive expression and slowly moved her face towards his. He stepped back, alarmed, but she didn't let go.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing now?

"I dunno, Linc, maybe we should…I'm just tired of feeling alone and empty."

"Tough. Get off me, Doc. Not gonna happen." He disentangled himself from her with some force.

"Why not? I'm guessing it's been a while for you, too. We should do something about that."

"Yeah, I'm sure screwing my brother's drunken girlfriend is _exactly_ what I need in my life right now." His voice sounded softer than his words.

"I'm not your brother's girlfriend anymore." She paused, then added, "I never really was."

"Right, we'll discuss that at a later time. Can I ask you why exactly you thought I was the man for the job?"

"I know you. You're better than a random guy in a bar. Besides, from what Michael's told me, you're not usually that picky." She suddenly sounded very drunk, even to herself.

"I'm flattered," he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He stepped further away from her and crossed his arms.

"Fine, I'll go."

"Nice try. You're not going anywhere." She smiled at him as she started to close the gap between them.

"No, no, no," he said, stepping back again, "you're gonna sleep it out all by yourself. Geez, you know I have a teenager here, right? Quite the example you're setting."

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Linc watched him carefully as he entered the visiting room and sat down on the other side of the thick glass wall. Michael looked…blank. His face was expressionless. His posture gave nothing away. He just sat their, staring straight ahead, his eyes void of any emotion. He reminded Lincoln of the heavily medicated Whack Shack residents they had mixed with that fateful night.

They were both silent for a minute. He needed to get to him, get past his defenses. It was going to be messy. Linc's foot started tapping a rapid rhythm on the floor. For the first time, he wished his visit would finish as quickly as possible.

"You're a bastard. You know that, right?"

"Why, thank you. I'm glad to see you too, brother."

"Whatever you think you're doing, it's not working. You're making things harder for everyone."

"You're going to let me deal with this, Linc."

"Oh yeah, 'cause you're doing such an amazing job. Like it or not, I'm a part of it, and I'll be a part of it as long as Sara keeps showing up on my doorstep when she's smashed."

Michael's eyes widened. "I beg your pardon?"

"It seems you can't force people to let go of you when they really don't want to. I know a bit about that."

"Sara showed up…"

"Drunk as a sailor, yeah. Fortunately, she's quite happy when she's wasted."

Michael's eyes closed, his expression sour. He looked like he had just been slapped. Hard.

"Kind of promiscuous, too," Linc continued, watching his brother's body tense up ten-fold. "Look, I understand the point you're trying to make. So does she, but she's not ready to give up on you yet. You still have an appeal coming up, and even if you lost that, I'm not sure it would change anything."

He waited, but the younger man remained silent, his jaw clenched so hard Linc was surprised he didn't hear his teeth gritting.

"She's not in a good place right now. It might not be the best time for you to push her away. You don't put yourself in the state she was in last night and throw yourself at your man's brother when you feel good about your life."

Michael raised his eyes to meet his brother's, panic suddenly evident on his fine features.

"What…Did anything…?"

"Of course not! God, you're an idiot! She was toasted, lonely. Luckily, she didn't know where to go and showed up at my door. I tucked her in. She was quite a sight in the morning. At least it gave LJ something to think about." He paused and lowered his voice. "Next time, she might knock on someone else's door. Or decide booze's not gonna cut it."

There was another minute of silence. Head in his hands, Michael contemplated the horror of what his brother had just said. In the meantime, Lincoln was quickly losing his patience. He had never been good at this. His brother was one stubborn, thick-skulled idiot. It always took forever to make him change his mind about anything.

"Let her in, Mike."

"No." Michael was curling up in his chair, his head shaking slowly.

"She wants to wait for you. She's not letting go, and rejection doesn't look good on her."

"I can't. I can't…see her in here. She deserves so much more than this."

"_This_ is what she wants!"

"I can't stand to see her here," he exhaled.

"Then write her a fucking letter! Call her, train a pigeon for all I care! She's not expecting much, but she needs _something_. She's lost a lot because of us already, Mike."

Michael's head shot back up. "You think I don't know that?" he asked loudly.

"Then do something about it."

"I am."

Exasperated, Linc slapped his hand flat against the glass, hard. A CO barked at him to knock it off.

Linc shook his head. "You're the dumbest genius I've ever heard of. You're gonna rethink that plan of yours, little brother, because she certainly _deserves_ better than the shit you're serving her right now."

Michael sighed again. Even locked up in here, even after severing every tie with her, he still managed to hurt her.

"I'll think about it."

"Think fast," Lincoln replied, rising to leave.

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As soon as he opened the door, Sara rushed inside, pushing him brutally to the side.

"What the hell did you tell him?"

"Tell who?" he tried innocently.

"Who do you think?" she spat angrily. "Your _brother_. He wrote me a letter," she added, sounding slightly hysterical as she shook the envelop in front of his face, her fury very evident on her face. "I wonder why exactly he got the urge to lecture me on _drinking_?"

"Well, I may have mentioned your last visit," he replied carefully, putting distance between him and the irate woman stomping around his living room.

"And _why_ exactly did you think it would be a good idea?"

"Look, you keep showing here when you hit rock bottom, then screen my calls and ignore me ringing at your door. I'm worried about you. About the both of you. Michael might spend the next ten years locked up and all he can think about is how he's lost you and fucked up your life. The way you're so intent on self-destructing, you're proving him right."

"You've _met_ Michael Scofield, right? You want to take a wild guess at how exactly this little revelation made him feel "

"He's all guilt-stricken. Also, it might have shaken him just the right way. What did the letter say?" he tried, genuinely curious.

"That he's sorry. He's always so fucking sorry. I can't, for the life of me, put up with his apologies anymore."

"That's all he said?" Lincoln asked, frowning.

"He says he remembers how depressing it was like, visiting you. And that I shouldn't wait for him. Funny, I remember him asking me to, once." She paused. "He also says I can come back to see him if I really need to."

Lincoln grinned. And despite herself, Sara did, too.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to becoolbec for beta-reading.

* * *

"You look disappointed. Expected someone else?"

Michael glared at his older brother.

"Relax," Lincoln breathed, sprawling on the visitor chair. "She couldn't make it today, had to take a double shift at the clinic. She'll be here next week. You two can... catch up then."

He watched Michael shift uncomfortably in his seat and smirked. It had been a while since he'd had an opportunity to tease his brother.

"Okay," Michael mumbled.

He wasn't disappointed. Disappointed didn't begin to cover it. He had spent days – and several sleepless nights – writing her the letter, picking each word with his usual obsessive precision, carefully planning each sentence, ruminating every single comma, in the hope to start mending things between them, to bring some closure and maybe...

"Whatever you wrote to her, you did good, Mike. She's doing better. I think I might have seen her smile yesterday."

"You saw her yesterday?" he frowned.

"She didn't stumble to my place in a state, if that's what you asking. We just had dinner, like normal people. I even cooked. Didn't you want me to adjust to adult life?"

"Yeah, well, you might want to start by learning how to dress properly. You look like a worn out chippendale."

"Your girl loves it," he replied, chuckling.

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No matter how much he wanted to, Michael would never forget her first visit, three weeks after the sentencing. The mere memory felt like a wound forming and deepening slowly. A burning ache, the vicious bite of peroxide she had once poured on his wounded arm. Sitting stiffly in an uncomfortable prison chair, petrified and powerless, he had watched Sara cry, yell and beg him to give her something he didn't think he possessed, until he simply couldn't look at her anymore. The plexiglass wall between them stood as a physical evidence that she needed to be protected from him.

The sight of her swollen, tear-stained eyes, the sound of her sobs had been carved in his memory as surely and permanently as Fox River's blue-prints covered his body.

Watching her that day, observing her with his usual meticulousness, he had barely recognized the lively, amazing woman he had fallen in love with months before, against his better judgement. He saw her initial efforts to put on a happy face for his benefit crumple in seconds, giving way to defeat and desolation. He saw a disturbing paleness, dark circles, hollow cheeks. He saw the way her small hand gripped the phone handle, her defensive posture. He saw her gorgeous red hair still dyed brown like a moving, living, very visible scar. He saw the damage he had done.

Back in his cell, he was left with nagging questions that tormented him through the long, monotone days. He was becoming obsessed with the idea that she could be using again, knowing he could never bring himself to ask. He could only look down and hurt in silence. Let her go, wait for her to come to her senses and move on with her life. It was for the best. He had nothing left to offer her.

Every time she had come to visit afterwards, he had done just that: carefully avoid her eyes as he remained mute, all the while feeling his heart break slowly, continuously. The sadistic bastard of a guard who escorted him each time never once let him leave the room until she was done collapsing in front of him.

When she had told him she wouldn't visit anymore, he was torn between relief and an excruciating sense of loss. She had finally given up on him.

And then, just as he was struggling for a way to cope with her absence, to carefully erase every memory of her smile, of her voice, of her kisses, even, Lincoln had shown up with a piece of news. Sara hadn't given up, she was just drowning in her own misery, alone. Drowning, always drowning. As if his nightmares weren't already filled with images of her beautiful face fighting for air as it was forced into an overflowing motel bathtub. Sara had been drinking. Sara had been hitting on Lincoln, while drunk. Sara needed to see him, or else. So many pieces of information to process, each and every one of them making his head spin with guilt and pain.

He had given in then, and had patiently waited, day after day, to be called in to the visiting room. Only to find his brother sitting nonchalantly in the visitor chair where Sara's graceful figure should have been. Before Lincoln could reassure him that she was alright, his face had registered a dazzling whirl of confusion, panic, disappointment...

Oh yes, Linc had looked thoroughly amused.

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"You should have seen his face when he first saw me. Man, I can't remember the last time he looked so disgruntled. Or maybe I do," he added with a frown. Obviously, Michael hadn't look delighted the day his brother had been sentenced to death.

"Is that supposed to make me cheery?"

"Damn right, it is. Doesn't it?" Lincoln asked, resuming his previous peppy mood.

"No, of course, not..." Sara started, before shaking her head and amending with a sheepish grin, "Okay, it does. A little."

"Yeah, I thought so. Wanna come and grab something to eat? And I mean some serious food. Did you know teenagers can survive on chocolate chip cookies and their own overabundant hormones alone?"

"Sorry, not tonight. I, uh, I have a meeting, actually."

"Mmm, okay." He paused and blinked nervously. "Hey, Doc, is everything alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's just... About the other night. I thought I might need to bring meetings back into my routine. You know, just in case."  
"Okay, then. Give me a call when you get home, alright?"

She couldn't help laughing at his new-found protectiveness. "Lincoln Burrows, you are aware than I am, in fact, about to turn thirty years old, right?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just do it, will you?"

"Okay. Enjoy your cookies, big boy."

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Even since the night she had made a clumsy move on Lincoln, an event she still was still far too embarrassed to discuss with him, or anyone else for that matter, he had started taking care of her. Discreetly in the first days, but soon enough she felt the full effect of Lincoln Burrows' protectiveness and intrusive, constant presence.

His constant scrutiny had been unnerving, at first. He expected daily phone calls, made her sit down for a 'Talk' every time she looked sad or despondent, and wasn't easily deterred by her cold shoulder or snarky comments. Not that she wanted him to quit. She had finally found a shoulder to cry on when needed, and the friend she had been lacking for a long time. He was allowing her to find a new confidence and an energy she didn't think she possessed anymore. He was also, of course, her most tangible connection to Michael.

She was perfectly aware she solely owed his latest change of heart, so to speak, to his opiniated brother. Sara had tried, of course, to find out how he had managed to do in one single conversation what she had failed to achieved in two months of regular visits. Lincoln wouldn't say a word. He only ended up teasing her obnoxiously about her "schoolgirl crush on his dork of a brother".

Her interrogation skills were clearly lacking.

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Sara was stomping around her apartment, looking for something to do – or break, maybe. She needed to keep herself busy or she would go insane. She had spent the night tossing and turning in bed, dutifully planning the drive to the penitentiary, including every possible traffic set back in her imaginary time-sheet. But even if a giant collision were about to happen, she would still be four hours early.

She was torn apart by a flow of powerful, contradictory emotions: a mixture of overwhelming trepidation and the deepest sense of dread. Lincoln had already called three times, apparently afraid she would melt down and bolt, or lock herself up inside her flat instead of visiting Michael as planned.

Not that the thought hadn't crossed her mind. But Gila and an unfortunate encounter had taught her to know better than to run from Michael.

After the absolute disaster that had been her last visits, she had no idea what to expect. Would he try to reason her? To convince her to move on? He would certainly not make it easy for her, she knew that much. Except this time, she was prepared to put a fight. She had every intention of coercing him into resuming a relationship with her. Any sort of relationship would do. The truth was, she had nothing left to lose or give up, nothing but him, and she wasn't about to let that go.

Just when she was starting to empty her closets for a vastly overdue spring cleaning, the phone rang. Again.

"What?" she barked agravated into the phone.

"Hey, Doc, don't bite my head off, I'm just checking on you."

"For the _fourth _time today, Lincoln. What essential information could you possibly have forgotten to ask during your three previous phone calls?"

"Uh, none, I think. I just wondered if you had started emptying your kitchen cabinets yet."

She looked at the messy pile of clothes on the floor, and smiled. "Try wardrobe."

"I see. Well, the kitchen was first step in Veronica's M.O. whenever she was driving herself insane. When she moved to the bathroom, I knew all hell was about to break loose."

"I am _not _going insane," she replied softly, surprised to hear him mention Veronica. He very seldomly did. "I happen to have some winter clothes begging to be sorted out."

"Oh my God, you're desperate. Like, err, what's the name of this show with the hot blonde and the one that keeps tripping on stuff and all the catfights?"

"I see someone's been watching too much Lifetime TV."

"I couldn't find the remote control. Besides, it's a nice change from MTV, let me tell you. Kids these days, you wouldn't believe the crap they listen to."

"You know he only listens to those emo bands to freak you out, right?"

"Of course. That's how the remote control got lost in the first place."

"I have to go, Lincoln. I have a clothes sorting party in the making."

"And only 3h45 to get it done. Man, that's a tense schedule you've got. Have fun."

--------------------------------

He had to blink a couple of times to make sure he wasn't imagining things: she was, in fact, waiting for him in the visiting room this time. She looked slightly better. Her hair was still dark, she was still too thin and visibly exhausted, but her eyes expressed a resolution that wasn't there before.

"Hi, Sara."

"Hey." She was searching his face, studying him attentively. Neither of them bothered to ask how the other was doing. It was written on their faces. "You know, I've thought about this for weeks and I still don't know where to start," she admitted.

"Maybe I should, then." He exhaled. The truth was, he didn't know how to go about it either. "What do you expect from me, Sara?" he asked gently. "What would you like to hear? I'm gonna be here ten years, give or take. I won't let you wait that long. Don't you want to move on? Have a life, a family?"

"I don't have your capacity to just give up everything with a shrug, Michael!" she replied, raising her voice. She was piqued by his questions. One step forward, ten steps backward. "I thought we were passed that. I'm not gonna turn my back on you and walk alone into the sunset. I want you in my life. Anyway I can get you . If that means just talking to you on this phone for now, then it is exactly what I want. Besides, what fabulous fate do you think I have to fly back to? I have no relatives, no career..."

"You're still a doctor."

She chuckled bitterly. "Right. I'm barely allowed to treat runny noses and STDs in a lousy free clinic."

"That's still better than Fox River," Michael mumbled, wincing.

"Is it? At least back there I could actually help my patients."

"You weren't safe," His jaw clenched as his mind filled with images of her trembling form and panicked eyes, as she clutched desperately to a piece of broken glass, back in the infirmary. One more trauma he was responsible for. "I've caused too much damage to your life already. I can't have you put everything on hold..."

"I swear, if you're going to say you're sorry once more, I'm breaking through this glass to come and strangle you with my bare hands. My life was damaged before you even came into the picture, Michael. I did a pretty good job at that on my own when I started using and alienating everyone."

"But you got clean," he insisted, "you started over."

"I checked myself into rehab. It didn't fix everything. It didn't fix _me_. I am, I'll always be a recovering junkie. Not drinking, not using... It's a conscious effort I have to make every day. Addictions are also symptoms, Michael. You're not responsible for each and every issue I have developed in my life."

"I just want what's best for you, Sara. And if that's mean leaving me behind..."

"How very vulcan of you."

Michael looked at her intently, and found himself short of a clever come back. She was smirking at him, looking determined and ready to counter anything he would throw her way. He was losing, he realised, and beneath his carefully crafted facade of calm and reason, he was more euphoric than he ever recalled feeling. "Will you tell me about your... issues?"

"Will you stop apologizing and just let me wait for you if I feel like it?" she asked in return, and he felt a large lump form in his throat and expand steadily to reach his chest, filling him with warmth and making his blood pulse faster.

"Yes."

"Good, because I plan to stick around until there's no more glass wall. And after that? I might just decide to stick around some more."

Putting his hand flat on the plexiglass wall, Michael watched Sara's smaller one rising immediately to rest against it on the other side. His heart was pounding deafeningly in his chest.

"I have issues too, you know"

"Oh, you do? I never knew." She replied, barely containing a chuckle while her eyes started shining with tears.

"I do. Lots of them. Self-worth issues, trust issues, social issues. Jealousy issues. You know, if my brother keeps prowling around you, I might have someone break his legs. I can make that sort of connection around here."

"I'm sure." Tears were rolling down her cheeks now, but she didn't bother wiping then. She looked as happy as he felt, and though life was still very far from perfect, it was something. Something to hope for, something to hold onto.

"Michael, I have to ask you something... And I only ask because I can't keep coming here without being certain of the answer. When you dismissed me before..." She paused and he cringed at the word. "Did you really want me out of your life? When all's said and done, aside from the self-sacrificing bullshit, is it really what you would have picked?"

"No," he answered, his voice hoarse. "Of course not. Do you really need to ask?"

"Maybe. Maybe I just need you to... say something."

He exhaled loudly. That was it. Time for definition. He braced himself and focused his shiny wet gaze on hers. "I'm in love with you Sara. I'm painfully, torturously in love with you. I think you're crazy to even consider waiting for me. But apparently, I can't stop you. And if you want me, I'm yours anyway you'll have me, because I don't think I'm gonna be able to love someone like that ever again. It's exhausting, and it's seriously messing with my mental balance. I have no idea how we're gonna pull this off. There's long-distance and then there's... this. I don't know how I'm gonna be able to function now I'm no longer forced to repress my memories of you. I have no idea how my brain is going to not implode from the idea that you still want me after everything, and enough to put up with this glass and this phone and the bulls listening to every word we say to each other. But if that's enough for you? Then it's fine with me."

"If that is not enough, I don't know what could ever be. And I love you, too. Actually," she added, suddenly certain she could feel the warmth of his hand from behind the glass, "I think all we need is a little faith, Michael."

"Faith will only get us so far."

"Well, it got us pretty far already, what with all the prison breaks, exonerations and presidential impeachments."

"Sara," he started, his voice suddenly shaky, "you need to understand that if I get my hopes up and you're not waiting for me in front of the building the day I'm getting out of here..."

"I'll be there, as close as they'll let me get," she assured him, watching his insecurities resurface visibly in his eyes.

"You know where you'll be in ten years? At what point in your life? What makes you so sure you're not gonna get tired of waiting? Or just meet somebody and..."

"I'm sure. I'm very sure, as sure as you can get. Besides, your brother keeps such a close watch on me I really doubt any man would consider asking me for out for fear of getting bitten."

"Lincoln tends to be overprotective," he said with a faint smile.

"Well, I hope that doesn't run in the family," she replied, and noticed with relief his smile was reaching his eyes.

"It's never going to be easy," he pointed out.

"Oh, so that's what I get for dating a convict with your track record." She paused. "It is, Michael. Life on the run, the fear, the tension, that wasn't easy. But you and me, what we've got, it's always been pretty simple."

"True, but I tend to complicate things."

"Oh, I can handle you. It's Lincoln I'm worried about. I think your bother is developing a very unhealthy fixation on our relationship. And his TV habits are concerning."

Before Michael could replied, a guard came to announce to visiting period was over. Both their faces fell.

"Okay, then. I'll see you next week, same place, same time," she announced, trying to keep her voice steady as she felt fresh tears burning her eyes. She hung up the phone before they could make any grandiose declaration or elaborate farewell.

This was not an ending, but a start.


End file.
